


Always Already

by coaldustcanary



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Academia, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:02:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7064206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coaldustcanary/pseuds/coaldustcanary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>*On hiatus, not currently being updated*</b>
</p><p>All things considered, Lyn Trevelyan has every reason to be anxious about attending her field's most high-profile conference this year. She's no longer a graduate student and is attending as a full-fledged PhD, she's not at all sure how her research presentation critiquing video game narrative structure is going to be received, and - best of all - she has a make-or-break interview for her dream job at Holy Flame University in Haven. Her friends may be committed to making sure she stops worrying and has a good time the night before the big event, but Lyn's about to find out that some stories - whether video game or "real life" - rely on painfully awkward twists.</p><p>The "DA:Inquisition, but everyone's an academic studying media" AU that's basically just a lot of meta in-jokes and fandom references that may only amuse the author.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Already

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to critical discourse theorists for warping narrative theory to my own dastardly ends. No apologies to Heidegger for stealing "always-already" for my title, because the guy was a tool, even if the concept is useful!
> 
> Rating is for chapters to come. Other characters (a whole lot of them) to be added as we go!
> 
> Though this is a fully-modern Thedas and characters from the whole game series will appear, a variety of older generation background characters from Origins - notably Bryce and Eleanor Cousland, Maric Theirin, and Rowan Guerrin, among others, are imagined as historical figures from a long-ago time, as well as characters in a popular TV melodrama that takes certain liberties with the story. After all, media scholars need media to study and critique (and write fanfic about).

 

>  “For readers of romance, as well as a wide assortment of genre fictions and personal fantasies, to speak of their guilty pleasure is to metaphorically reject their fondness for the form by self-consciously categorizing it as nothing more than “trash,” signaling to others that they know its worth – and their own – is wanting.”

From Pentaghast, C. (19:41) Armed With Swords and Shields: In Defense of the Guilty Pleasure. Wycome University Press: Wycome, Free Marches.

*****

At first glimpse, the line to acquire coffee in the hotel lobby appeared endless. Not just because it was remarkably long and thronged with the bleary-eyed uncaffienated, but it was also a hopelessly shapeless, milling mass, as untidy as a first-year student’s first attempt at a thesis statement in a persuasive essay. The line emerged from within the glass-paneled café in the far corner of the cavernous space, ambled through the busy lobby proper, and trickled to an end near the slowly-spinning carousel-style doors leading outside. As conference attendees - acquaintances and friends and colleagues - caught sight of one another and interjected themselves excitedly into the cacophony of echoing conversations, the line itself became hopelessly twisted and knotted beyond sorting. No one seemed to be particularly concerned or surprised or at all sure of what was going on, really, but that was generally par for the course at these events.

Academics were, frankly, terrible at queueing. Lyn allowed herself an amused snort as she drifted through the hotel’s front doors toward what seemed to pass for the end of the line, though she, too, was generally unfazed by the untidy sprawl. During finals week, the University of Ostwick student union was nearly as chaotic for hours on end, and desperate, sleepless undergrads were much more cranky than even the most anxious conference attendee. This, she could handle, though she coolly judged her wait for a simple cup of hot coffee to likely last into the 10 o’clock hour. For the moment, anyway, she had eyes only for her phone screen, and she chewed idly at her bottom lip as she forced her email application to update. The hotel wifi was already predictably shuddering and groaning under the strain. Certainly the Grand Drakon Downtown Conference Center had hosted conventions of all types, including many academic conferences before this one, but few scholarly communities could compete with the eagerness of media studies academics when it came to making demands on the available data streams. Even the stodgiest hidebound traditionalist academics made use of digital media, but only media scholars seemed to live it, breathe it, and allow it to integrate into and drive their entertainingly complex compulsions.

The ‘loading’ icon on her screen spun lazily, but provided no new messages. Frowning, Lyn glanced around the lobby, evaluating the throng of people and noting a few vaguely familiar faces but no-one she knew well. Still, it was clear that she had found her people. Half of the amorphous coffee line’s inhabitants alone were on their mobile devices, including most of those engaged in animated chatter with other folks in the queue. Every free chair and couch in the lobby and some corners of floor were occupied by obvious conference-goers, too, and most of them had their noses in their screens as well. Graduate students who had spent last night stacked uncomfortably with three or four other roommates sought privacy by curling up near an outlet, commuter attendees shouldered heavily-packed laptop bags while juggling a phone and their registration packet bags, and plenty of other recent arrivals, like Lyn, were making their first (or second or third or _tenth_ ) morning check of their messages. Lyn hitched her own heavy leather bag a bit higher on her shoulder - she had crammed it just a bit too full, she was coming to realize – and straightened, grumbling wordlessly as she shifted her feet. Her modest heels currently looked good and felt okay, but she had the creeping feeling that she would probably be limping by mid-afternoon. She hadn’t even been here five minutes, and she was already regretting every significant decision she’d made in the past twelve hours – _especially_ the damn email she’d sent last night.

And there was still no response from Cassandra.

In a fit of frustration, Lyn jabbed her thumb into the menu button twice to close every open app and only then tapped the email icon again – gently this time, as if she could coax it into functioning with a softer touch. Waiting for it to load anew, she shuffled forward a few steps as the amorphous line seemed to contract, staying within an arm’s length of the cluster of people ahead of her in line without actually sparing them a glance. She needed the assurance of a response from Dr. Pentaghast even more than the promise of coffee and, knowing the other woman’s habitually prompt replies, it had already been sent this morning. Unfortunately, she wasn’t just competing for precious bandwidth with the motley crew assembled in the lobby. The first sessions of the morning were well underway, and over a dozen rooms across four floors of hotel conference center held the most dedicated of attendees and the most unlucky of presenters already playing the game. Probably in most of the rooms there were about as many in the audience as there were sitting on the presentation panel, but that’s what you got when you were slotted the unlucky 8:30 AM sessions on Thursday. With 24 hours and more before her own panel late Friday morning, Lyn had lucked into a decent enough slot, but it would all be for nothing if she didn’t get a reply to that ill-considered and awkward late night email.

Lyn was scowling at the distance yet to cover to reach the coffee bar when her phone emitted a soft metallic tinkling. She thought it vanishingly unlikely that Dr. Pentaghast would text her reply, but there was always the chance... She tapped the volume lower hastily to muffle any subsequent sounds (the distinctive sound file played when looting gold from a corpse in _Shadows of Barindur_ might not raise many eyebrows in present company, but it could get a bit annoying by the third or fourth rapid repetition) as the message popped up on her screen.

_Dorian Pavus: made it to the airport. Flight is on time. Brace yourself I’m omw._

The corner of Lyn’s mouth quirked up despite her anxious frustration, a small knot in her gut easing a fraction at the message’s appearance, even if it wasn’t the one she had been expecting. She’d arrived in Denerim last night in time to eat a late meal at the hotel restaurant, assuring herself that she deserved to enjoy a fancy dinner and a good glass or two of dry Nevarran red, and then made a futile attempt at going to bed early. (Instead, she had spent much of the night’s wee hours throwing up her hands at every possible ensemble combination of the sensible interview pieces she’d packed, shed tears over the question of whether or not to wear heels today – let alone Friday, the day of the panel and interview - and, of course, written a rambling, inadvisable email to her mentor – clearly all choices she’d fumbled.) The luxury of arriving a full day before the conference began was something she’d never extended to herself before, but one she had felt was worth it, considering the stakes. Dorian, on the other hand, was squeezing his paltry research assistant salary so tightly it squeaked, thanks to his former advisor’s utter shit-show of a meltdown at Minrathous University, and while he was contributing to the panel she had organized, _he_ didn’t have a potential job riding on the outcome. He may have splurged on a room just for himself as well, but an extra night’s stay, even at the good rate they’d found at a hotel a few blocks from the conference, was out of the question. She swiftly brushed her fingers over the screen keyboard, composing a brief reply.

_Evelyn Trevelyan: yaaaay can’t wait to see you. Eta still 1330?_

_Dorian Pavus: something like that. I’ll text you when I’m in_  
_Dorian Pavus: somehow I need a drink already_

_Evelyn Trevelyan: even Redcliffe Regional has to have a bar open y/n? Airports always do_

_Dorian Pavus: fair point tacky chain still means booze_  
_Dorian Pavus: even if it’s some mass produced overhopped CPA_

 _Evelyn Trevelyan: fucking void you can’t be desperate enough to drink a chasind pale ale at this hour_  
_Evelyn Trevelyan: it’s not even 10 AM_

_Dorian Pavus: I’m desperate Lyn_

Lyn snorted at that, despite her lingering worries, briefly dragging down on the phone’s menu bar to quickly scan the emails that had come in during her texts with Dorian. Seeing nothing significant, she flipped back to the texting menu to respond.

_Evelyn Trevelyan: no one’s that desperate_

_Dorian Pavus: it’s either an After Hafter CPA on tap or some kind of hipster manchild’s idea of antivan sipsip_

_Evelyn Trevelyan: don’t drink that either_

_Dorian Pavus: the sipsip is branded Crows Blood I’m not even kidding_  
_Dorian Pavus: Lyn I’m serious_  
_Dorian Pavus: if I die here in this shitty airport bar read my paper tomorrow_  
_Dorian Pavus: I make my superior scholarship my gift to you even in death_

_Evelyn Trevelyan: I hate you_

_Dorian Pavus: I love you too_

Lyn hesitated, fingers twitching over the keyboard, wrinkling her nose slightly as she clamped down on the urge to make an immediate and cutting reply. Their wickedly teasing conversations, once both comforting and easy, had a habit of making her a little uncertain these days. It had been too long since they’d talked face to face, or about anything of significance via any medium. And the last time they had... Well. It felt safer to change the topic, not least because there was an easy available pivot.

_Evelyn Trevelyan: my hotel room is amazeballs, btw, totally worth it_

_Dorian Pavus: saying ~I told you so~ is beneath me but anyway I told you so_

_Evelyn Trevelyan: worth the walk but I’m getting coffee on the way tomorrow, the line at the conf center is ridic_

_Dorian Pavus: lets walk in 15 minutes late with coffee together for the panel tomorrow_

_Evelyn Trevelyan: :( :( :(_

_Dorian Pavus: I’m kidding. You know I’m kidding right?_  
_Dorian Pavus: everyone would be too busy watching Sera and Cass argue to notice our entrance anyway_

_Evelyn Trevelyan: not with Dr. de Fer there to wither them to silence with a glance_

_Dorian Pavus: point taken – I guess we’ll just have to be on time._  
_Dorian Pavus: speaking of which heard my flight called gotta jet_

_Evelyn Trevelyan: safe travels_

Closing the text window, she ran her hand through her hair and tugged at a handful of it at the nape of her neck while she forced her email app to update once again, yielding several new email messages this time. The first two were UofO administrative spam messages, safe to ignore. The third was an invitation to submit to an interdisciplinary conference at University of Orlais in early Kingsway that she would definitely peruse later – late summer in Val Royeaux meant for gorgeous weather and off-peak rates - especially if everything turned out well this weekend. But it was the fourth she needed to see, and she swallowed heavily against the anxiety welling in her chest. She hesitated momentarily, imagining every possible negative response, up to and including that her rambling original email had been forwarded with cutting commentary to every member of the job search committee. Wincing, she finally tapped the message open - reality could never be as bad as her imagined worst case scenarios.

 **From: Pentaghast, Cassandra Allegra Portia Ca… (cpentagh@holyflame.uni)**  
**To: Trevelyan, E.V. (etrevelyan3@uofo.uni)**  
**Date: Thursday, 3 Drakonis 19:41 at 9:39 AM**  
**Subject: RE: One more small question…**

Evelyn,

I could tell you the answer to what you ask, but then I would have to kill you. :)

(I cannot abide these emoticon things, but I assure you, that was a joke.)

In all seriousness, the answer, of course, is yes.

That said, at this juncture I will offer a piece of advice that I hope you will consider in the spirit in which it is given, which holds your best interests at heart:

Forget about tomorrow’s interview. Forget about tomorrow’s panel.

You may think you can’t, but don’t even think about lying to me, or yourself!

I am certain you are fully capable of distracting and entertaining yourself for the next 24 hours. Go to the panels – some of them actually appear to be interesting this year. Visit the Old Alienage District for lunch. Go shopping this evening, or meet old friends out for dinner. Or make a new friend, if you like – how is it that Tethras hasn’t written a book about budding romance at a conference or convention yet? If not “Swords and Shields”… “Panels and Posters”, perhaps?

In any case, let me assure you – I urged you to apply for this position in the first place because I am confident you are a good fit for our needs. I have seen your application materials, your research, and your talk. You have nothing to worry about – stop second guessing yourself.

I hope I will see you later today, but for now I must sign off. I am currently enduring an atrocious critique of Gerrault’s _The Black Fox_ in this panel. He hasn’t even touched upon Servana’s characterization yet, but I am not optimistic. This promises to be excruciating. I’ll probably only get one question in, so I have to plan carefully.

Yours,

Cassandra

Dr. Cassandra Pentaghast  
Professor, Department of Literature & Language  
Holy Flame University

_“And though we are few against the wind, we are yours.” -Trials 5:1_

**"Just put in a good word for me with the Maker, your ladyship. You never know when I might need it."** – Varric Tethras, _Hard In Hightown_

 

 

> **On Thursday, 3 Drakonis 19:41 at 1:12 AM Trevelyan, E.V. wrote:**         
> 
> Dear Dr. Pentaghast,
> 
> My sincere apologies for bothering you once again, but I would like to impose on your generosity just a little, if I might, to confirm that it would not be untoward to request that you introduce me to your colleagues prior to our panel presentation on Friday morning? I would not wish any of my interactions with you or the committee to seem improper or to unduly influence any aspect of the search process, but as you did offer to make our informal introductions when the opportunity arose, and you indicated that the committee members would be in attendance at our panel, I hoped this would provide an ideal opportunity to break the ice, so to speak.
> 
> Please let me know, at your earliest convenience, if this arrangement would be possible, and if there is anything else that might be helpful to know in the interim, I would be glad to know of it.
> 
> Yours sincerely,
> 
> Evelyn V. Trevelyan, PhD  
>  Post-Doctoral Fellow  
>  Department of Media & Culture  
>  University of Ostwick

Letting out the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding with a reedy whine, Lyn barely noticed the sidelong looks her strangled noises were earning her from several concerned onlookers at first. After a moment she feebly managed to cover her mouth and cough a little, muttering something vague about allergies to no-one in particular.  The excuse regained her a semblance of public privacy in which to attempt to process what she’d just read. Cassandra’s tart reply left her floored. By nature Cassandra Pentaghast was forthright and direct, perhaps even to a fault, but never in the past year had the senior professor’s generally restrained mentorship and odd snippets of advice been couched in such informal terms. Lyn found her cheeks flushing at the emailed rebuke and the not-so-subtle implication that she get out and…hook up. _Andraste’s tits._ She covered her warming cheek surreptitiously with her left hand, hanging her head a bit shamefacedly and hoping no one she knew was seeing her so flustered.

“OY. EEE-VEE-LYNN.” She jerked her head up sharply as her name was bellowed fit to echo, compulsively thumbing her phone off while she glanced around, wide-eyed, only to find herself nearly nose to nose with a smirking freckled face and gray eyes wide with playful surprise.

“Oooh, lookit here, Lynnie’s all blushing!” the new arrival crowed, patting Lyn’s reddened cheek with slender fingers as half a dozen onlookers’ eyes were inexorably drawn to their interaction. Lyn’s heart seized briefly in her chest as the other woman made a show of sticking out her elbow jauntily and wiggling the tip of her finger in her upswept, pointed ear as if to clear it. Before Lyn could even draw breath to gainsay the accusation, the newcomer prattled on, shouldering into the line to bump companionably against her.

“What’s got you so hot and bothered, then, that you couldn’t hear me, hmm? You been reading smutty fanfiction in the coffee line?” she asked, voice coy and teasing.

“Shut it, Sera,” Lyn hissed, feeling her face heat so precipitously that her skin prickled. She liked Sera, and not just because she was married to Dagna, Lyn’s closest friend from her grad school days, as well as being a sweet person and a remarkably competent scholar for a graduate student, but this was too fucking much. Sera only cackled at her apparent mortification, leaning in as if to share a conspiratorial whisper but not lowering her voice a fraction.

“I’ve got some pretty-sexy-ladies Wolf Queen recs for you if you’re finally tired of reading about samey-same stubble-crusted dudes sticking their-“

“Ah, excuse me? May I take your order?” Lyn turned slowly to blink at the young elven woman wearing a green apron and a fraying expression of patience who had spoken, clearly not for the first time. Somehow the seemingly-endless queue before them had evaporated and she had arrived, finally, at the coffee counter to order. The barista’s eyes flicking over Lyn’s shoulder at the still-lengthy line stretching out behind them communicated her exasperation clearly, but Lyn could only smile stupidly at her savior, despite the non-verbal chastisement.

“Yes! Ah, sorry. Sorry. Of course, I’ll take a large hot coffee. Dark roast. With room?” Lyn stumbled over her order with relief, grateful that Sera had stopped talking, though whether she had relented out of pity for Lyn’s scarlet cheeks or the barista’s sake, she wasn’t certain. The barista nodded and grabbed up a cup, not bothering to scribble the simple order on it, and turned to the coffee carafes in a practiced motion, glancing back over her shoulder briefly.

“Anything else? Something to eat? A cinnamon raisin muffin?” Ignoring Sera’s muffled retching noises at the mentioned pastry, Lyn hesitated and glanced down at the glass case where only scant pickings remained, but then shook her head.

“No thanks, just the coffee,” Lyn said, tapping her phone hurriedly to bring up the payment app. The barista nodded and settled the cup, topped and wearing a cardboard sleeve, down on the counter, before wiping her hands off briskly on her apron. As she keyed the coffee order into the register, an energy bar in a garish red wrapper slid across the counter to rest just against the coffee cup. Lyn slid her gaze sideways from the barista’s questioning expression to where Sera leaned against the counter, still grinning.

“Literally the last thing _you_ need is an energy bar,” Lyn sighed. Sera stuck out her lower lip in a momentary and exaggerated pout.

“I had to get up ridiculously early so that my Widdle could give me a lift in on her way to work. I’ve been here for bloody ages. Gimme some sugar, yeah?” she retorted, chortling and waggling her eyebrows suggestively. Deciding that discretion was the better form of valor after casting her eyes briefly skyward and entreating the Maker for patience, Lyn nodded her assent to purchasing the energy bar at the barista and held out her phone, swatting the energy bar back along the counter to Sera with her free left hand. Or at least, that’s was her intention – she’d swear to it later, anyway.

Instead, she gracelessly whacked the energy bar into the coffee cup, causing the latter to shudder and wobble across the counter. With a sharp intake of breath, Lyn grabbed for the cup with the same hand, and managed, but barely, to keep it upright, at the cost of scalding hot Seheron Special Roast splashing out of the lid’s opening and dousing her hand in sparking sharp pain. With a cry, she released the cup and shook her hand vigorously, hissing a breath through her teeth as she tried to stifle a stream of invective. She wasn’t entirely fast enough to catch the “Fucking _void_ , that’s hot,” that slipped from between her teeth despite her best efforts. The barista was already passing her a handful of napkins and murmuring apologies, but Lyn blinked rapidly to clear her watering eyes and shook her head even as she tentatively dabbed coffee from her already-blistering hand.

“Nonono, it’s not your fault. I’m a clumsy fool, never mind it. Let me just pay and get out of your way, alright?” She smiled weakly and wiggled the phone she still held in her right hand and managed to get the payment application to scan before awkwardly fumbling the phone away into her jacket pocket. She gingerly picked up the coffee cup in a wad of napkins in her good hand and began sidling toward the table with cream and sugar, wishing she could sink into the café floor to escape all of the eyes that must be trained on her back. Sera snapped up the energy bar and followed, a frown pulling at her expressive face.

“You alright? Arse-cakes, Lynnie, you’re not going to open it again, are you? Here, let me. Put it down. You’re all wobbly,” Sera barked at her, elbowing Lyn gently away from the cup once it was settled on the table. With deft fingers, Sera plucked off the coffee cup’s top and began pouring from the heavy glass sugar dispenser, upending it so the sugar poured in a solid stream, and watching it fall with the kind of hardened, practiced eye that only an advanced graduate student could manage. Though her stomach quailed at the thought of ingesting so much sugar, Lyn thought the better of critiquing her coffee’s preparation at this point and pitched her handful of soggy napkins into the trashcan, instead taking the reprieve as an opportunity to turn a baleful eye on her jacket and blouse, looking for coffee stains. She was beginning to fear she would need the deep green sea silk blouse she was wearing tomorrow again. Paired with her chestnut brown suit, it warmed her pale complexion and almost made her light brown hair look an appealing shade of auburn in the right light. She’d originally planned to pair the silver-black samite blouse with her good gray everknit trousers, but perhaps the neckline was a little too much? Of course, none of the other shirts she had brought were anywhere near nice enough for an interview. Lyn had begun calculating whether she would have time to shop later in the evening when Sera’s sharp voice cut across her anxious whirlwind of thoughts.

“You’re fine, stoppit, your britches are still sparkly,” Sera groused, giving the sugar a firm final shake before thumping it to the tabletop and grabbing the cream pitcher, using it to fill the cup to the brim, leaving the contents milky-pale. Somehow, she managed to briskly whisk the contents without spilling a drop and snapped the top back on the cup with an audible pop as the lid sealed. Lyn shook her head, holding out her good hand for the coffee cup.

“They’re hardly sparkly. But I’ll take ‘not redolent of dark roast’ at this point. At least the way this morning is going, I’m going to count that as a win,” Lyn said, keeping her tone dry. Sera snorted, gently batting Lyn’s hand away from the coffee cup while rooting around in her enormous plaidweave backpack’s multitude of pockets. As she rummaged through the bag, she advanced on Lyn, backing her out of the way and immediate view of other café-goers with a few nudges.

“Let me see your hand. Your _other_ hand, Miss Sparklebritches. The one that’s all red and ow, yeah? Wifey doesn’t let me go anywhere without a first aid kit. This gives me a reason to play nurse!” Sera paused and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “That’d make a good AU-verse, come to think of it. Lots of drama in the medical ward, right? Ellie and Rowan can both be nurses together, working long hours to save lives, and after a super serious medical emergency and some kind of tragedy, they comfort one another by getting out of their scrubs and f-“

“Maker’s balls, that stings!” Lyn hissed as Sera began dabbing at the burn on her hand with a disinfecting wipe. She tried to yank her hand away, but Sera’s grip on her wrist was firm. Lyn’s efforts to get free subsided after a halfhearted additional tug, and she closed her eyes. Her insides were quivering and clamoring for the privacy of a restroom – though whether it would be to clear the churn in her gut by throwing up or hiding in a stall to have a good cry or both, she wasn’t sure. Running her hand under an icy tap sounded pretty appealing, too – whatever the disinfecting swab Sera was using was coating with, it didn’t seem to have any of elfroot’s soothing effect. At the moment, however, it seemed that her best option was playing along and getting this over with.

“Or maybe Rowan can be the nurse, and Eleanor’s a member of a gang,” Sera continued cheerfully, either unaware of or ignoring Lyn’s inner turmoil. “The Seawolf’s injured in battle, and the Soldier Queen can tend her wounds. It practically writes itself! And they say Wolf Queen isn’t endgame..bah.”

“Can we be done with this? Everyone is staring and I just want to leave. The continent, preferably, but I’ll settle for this café if you will stop poking me and composing epic Wolf Queen hurt/comfort fanfiction.” Lyn edged around the other woman and reclaimed her coffee cup with her free hand. She took a tentative sip, and shuddered. It tasted like hazy memories of writing her dissertation at 3 AM, but it was coffee and it would do.

“Oh, suck it up, you big baby,” Sera said, her voice gentle despite her chiding tone. She spread a bit of antibiotic cream on the angry pink burn splashed across Lyn’s left hand, and then eyed the result critically for a long moment. After a moment, she yanked the green-gray scarf she always wore about her neck free with a flourish, folded it over a few times, and wrapped it loosely around Lyn’s salve-coated hand. Sera took in Lyn’s bemused took and snorted softly.

“There. Don’t worry, it’s clean, I swear. You can give it back to me tonight when we meet up with Wifey for dinner. Your poncy friend still coming, too?” Sera asked, waving her hand toward the café exit and flicking strands of pin-straight pale hair out of her eyes impatiently. Lyn required no second invitation to rapidly exit the coffee shop, making sharp tracks for the far side of the hotel lobby as Sera followed, the other woman’s tread soft despite her chunky, half-laced boots. Late morning light streamed in through the massive glass windows that made up the entirety of the two-level lobby’s street-facing side, and the gust of blown heat near the revolving doors at the front of entrance made the crowded room practically tropical, especially compared to the brisk Wintermarch cold just outside. Sera was wearing a cute dress over tights – she must have stowed a jacket somewhere, because there was no way Dagna was letting her out of the car without one – but Lyn suddenly found herself wilting. Spying a pair of grad students packing up their laptop bags, she made a beeline for the chairs she hoped they were about to vacate.

“It’s not even ten-thirty, and I’m ready for a do-over,” she muttered, before glancing sideways at Sera and making a belated reply to her question.

“I think Dorian still plans on joining us, yeah. He’s in the air now, so I can’t check in, but he’ll be here soon,” Lyn said, barely waiting a second before tossing her bag into the chair that had just been vacated and shrugging off her jacket at a more sedate pace. Sera flung herself down in the other, hooking a leg over one of the padded arms and making a thoughtful noise as she scanned the milling, crowded lobby with a faint expression of distaste. She unwrapped her energy bar, and took an enormous bite, chewing almost angrily before swallowing and gesturing expansively and vaguely toward the scene before them.

“Hawke warned me about all this. _She_ said conferences are a big mess made by a few fussy stuck-up types trying to look more fancy. Everyone who isn’t big-time is busy feeling inadequate, taking advantage of a university charge account if they’re lucky, and wishing they were brave enough to hook up,” Sera said, shaking her head. Lyn dropped heavily into the other chair with a humorless laugh, laying her shed jacket aside.

“She’s not far wrong, for a certain subset of conference-goers, I suppose. Is she coming this weekend, by the way?” Lyn asked, taking a swig of her rapidly-cooling coffee. Sugar crystals crunched in a rather satisfying way between her teeth with every sip. She wiggled the fingers of her burned hand experimentally. The makeshift bandage was probably not necessary, perhaps even counterproductive, but Lyn appreciated the protection from smearing salve or peeling skin around on the furniture.

“Nah. Did my talk for her last night on video chat, though. She gave me some good pointers for tomorrow,” Sera said with a grin. Lyn coughed and barely choked down her mouthful of tepid coffee without incident, lowering her wrapped hand to her lap. Marian Hawke was a famously generous mentor and advisor to her graduate students, but her performance at conferences was perhaps more aptly described as infamous. In her second year while pursuing her doctorate Lyn had been in the audience for a pedagogy panel Hawke had chaired at an interdisciplinary conference in Starkhaven. Lyn left the panel with pages of detailed notes, a great idea for a paper on student engagement she ended up publishing in a decent journal the next year, and a grading rubric much-beloved by her students to this day. The panel left _Lyn_ rather dazed and not a little overwhelmed over by Marian Hawke’s force of nature-style personality, however. She was good, very good at what she did, but she was also, frankly, terrifying.

“What kind of pointers, exactly?” Lyn asked, carefully placing her coffee cup on the table beside her and leveling a searching look at Sera.

“Oh, come off it, I’m not going to make a mess of your panel. Like I don’t know what the job market’s like as well as anyone, right? Anyway, I could use friends like you in the right places when it’s my turn under the microscope,” Sera said, dropping her feet to the ground and facing Lyn directly with a briefly sober expression. Lyn grimaced, raking her good hand through her hair and heaving a sigh.

“I’m sorry, I know you wouldn’t. I’m just wound so tight about tomorrow. I thought coming to Denerim earlier would help me relax, but I just keep worrying about something else. No wonder Cassandra told me to shut up and get..out..some,” Lyn finished vaguely, before abruptly turning a speculative eye on Sera, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Your turn, huh? How’s that dissertation coming along? Set a defense date yet?” Sera’s gray eyes widened briefly in panic (and Lyn momentarily allowed herself a moment of mingled pleasure and relief that she no longer had to answer those questions, herself) but her amusement was short-lived.

“Wait wait wait. Cassandra Pentaghast told you to relax? Lady Do-Your-Duty herself?” Sera asked, incredulous, breaking into giggles before Lyn could even attempt to answer. “Ha, _duty_.” Lyn rolled her eyes.

“She sent me an email this morning, saying I should enjoy visiting the city and basically do anything other than worry about tomorrow. I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that, exactly, but maybe I need to try,” Lyn said, though she could hear the doubt in her own voice. Sera held out her hand abruptly, fluttering her fingers in demand.

“Let’s see this email.”

“No.”

“Come on. I need to see this to believe it.”

“Definitely no.”

“You don’t know anyone who knows this city as well as I do, Lynnie. Wifey asked me nicely to help you out as much as I could. This is me helping, right? Gimme.” Sera wiggled her fingers once more. With a grunt of annoyance, Lyn woke her phone and brought up the email response in question and passed over the phone.

“Don’t go nosing around in my inbox, okay?” Lyn said feebly, but her heart wasn’t really in it. Maybe this was a good idea. Sera was actually pretty good at distraction, and she’d lived in Denerim her whole life. Maybe she’d have an idea for lunch after the next round of sessions, or a quirky shop to visit – seriously, where did she find such cute leggings? With renewed determination, Lyn drained her coffee and straightened in her chair, watching Sera read Cassandra’s email with her slender brows drawn down in concentration. Slowly, inexorably, those brows began to raise toward Sera’s choppy, razor-hewn fringe. Caught between shock and barely-contained mirth, Sera turned in Lyn’s direction, drumming her booted feet on the floor merrily.

“Tenured professor Cassandra Pentaghast thinks you need to get laid. She basically prescribed a life-changing, toe-curling, magical lovemaking session like in her favorite trashy Tethras – you know that’s exactly what she was imagining, too,” Sera laughed, a frighteningly thoughtful look creeping over her features. “Could be she’s right, and that’s _exactly_ what you need.”

“She was making a joke,” Lyn protested with a shake of her head, a particularly vocal thread of uneasiness beginning to distinguish itself from the multitude singing in chorus in the back of her mind. Sera only grinned all the wider, surging to her feet and leaning forward to gently pat Lyn’s cheek.

“Riiiiight. We’ll get back to that later. But first things first – let’s go to a panel, yeah? This is my first conference, I figure maybe I should actually go see people conferencing.” Sera popped the remainder of the energy bar in her mouth and pulled Lyn to her feet, mindful of her scorched hand, but barely giving her time to pick up her bag and jacket before setting off across the lobby, striding with purpose. “Hawke helped me make two lists – important panels to attend for learning, and panels with pompous assholes good for a laugh,” she threw back over her shoulder around a mouthful of dried fruit.

“So which are we viewing first?” Lyn asked, submitting to the inevitable and allowing Sera free rein to choose their destination.

“Assholes first. That’s the much longer list, of course,” Sera laughed.

Lyn pitched her empty coffee cup into a nearby trashcan and shook her head, though she followed in Sera's wake willingly enough, flexing her fingers and shaking out her sore hand idly. There were entirely too many hours left in this day, and she had a persistent, uneasy feeling that the morning's flesh wound and vivid public embarrassment would be topped before the night was out.

She was wrong, of course - it would be a good twenty four hours before this particular story's shocking twist came fully to light. There was scene yet to set.


End file.
